Slow Poison
by bluRaaven
Summary: Daud knows what the proper way to kill a witch is. Daud knows, because he sees and hears all, curled up in the vat that his mother shoved him into when the men with the masks came. / 'You're too slow,' Beatrici keeps telling him. Sometimes, when in a cruel mood, she will tell him that he is holding her back. Corvo hangs his head and says nothing. He does well enough on his own.
1. The Boy with Poison in his Blood

AN: this story is unformatted, because this site is incapable of grasping the concept of blank lines or indentations. For the proper, formatted version, please visit my AO3 - Archiveofourown.

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The proper way to kill a witch, Daud knows, is to take her eyes first, to prevent the Outsider from looking through them and down on this world. Clever fingers will work dark magic, so they have to go next. Then, the witches' voice must be stilled, so that she will never speak another curse or use it to seduce the good faithful, and to that purpose it is best to fill her lungs with brine.

Daud knows, because he sees and hears all, curled up in the vat that his mother shoved him into when the men with the masks came.

He is sure his mother is no witch, and he would have told them so, would have screamed it at them until they _had_ to listen, but he had promised not to, and clasps both hands over his mouth, hard.

The truth is, she is just good with plants, a skill she passed on to her son. Daud can distinguish the parsley he chopped earlier for the meal, burning now in its pot over the fireside, from the poisonous plants that look alike and that only a fool or a person tired of life would choose to eat. He knows the leaves of the sharp-smelling wild garlic from its sly cousins, tasty blueberries from belladonna – the fair lady in black who will take you straight to the Void. Daud has learned that the red fruit of yew can be eaten if you pick out the seeds, or offered as a whole to others.

"Left for friends," his mother always used to tell him, for as long as he can remember, referring of course to the shelves that line the walls of their tiny cottage, "Right for enemies."

She isn't like the other women from the villages surrounding the patch of wilderness where they live. She doesn't look like them, either. She doesn't like wearing shoes, and she crushes elderberries with linseed oil and uses the mixture to dye her hair blue and purple. He thinks it looks beautiful, like the petals of lilac, but the villagers fear her.

 _Witch_ , they whisper. All the same they come calling when winter makes their throats sore and their lungs thick with cough.

 _Marks of the Outsider_ , they mutter with one breath, eyes glued to the patterns that cover her hands and arms, and plead for her to save their fevered children with the other.

She laughs in the face of such accusations, and tells him not to pay any heed to the talk of commoners.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Daud asks one day as he watches her dip the bone needle in the ink, and then draw a bird's skull on the back of her hand, beads of blood and black oozing with every stab.

"It does," she replies, but never tells him why she does it.

The summer Daud turns eight they have enough coin saved up for him to go to the school in the next village. It's over an hour's walk away, but the time passes quicker with every trip spent in the company of only the rustle of leaves and birdsong.

Daud likes the lessons, but not the other children, and his teachers say he shows promise.

His mother gifts him a knife with a horn handle on his tenth nameday.

"You would have gone on your first sanddragon hunt by now," she says wistfully. "You wouldn't have earned the right to carry this with my people, but you have earned it in my eyes."

Daud is too excited to find out that there is a place where dragons are real to worry about being worthy of the gift.

The absence of his father, of whom he only knows that he sailed a pirate vessel, is a fact Daud is indifferent to. His mother refuses to talk about the man, and the boy does not care enough to risk her ire by asking too many questions. She is the strongest person he knows, and the scariest too.

Once, a band of men pays them a visit. Their smiles seem false and their eyes are shifty. They say they are here for healing, but none of them look sick, and Daud's mother runs them off with a tirade of curses that would surely even strike fear into the heart of the Outsider himself, and a meat cleaver to give point to her screaming at them to never come back.

Indeed, they do not come again.

They send for the men in the masks instead.

She picks him up, for the first time in years, and runs to the pasture, sheep and goats scattering with panicked bleats. The vat she tells him to hide in is what the livestock eat out of. It is smells and he can barely fit, and he protests against being stuck in there like fodder.

"Hush, don't make a sound, my boy," she says, such urgency in her voice that it makes him quiet down. "Don't let them find you. Do you understand?"

He nods frantically, even though no, he doesn't, and her lips burn hot against his brow as she kisses him.

When her warmth leaves, Daud feels cold all of a sudden. He is alone, shaking, and old enough to know that something terrible is about to happen.

 _Wandering eyes, conducts for the Outsider to this world no more._

 _Restless Hands, stilled forever._

 _Lying tongue will speak no more seditious falsehoods._

"Dreadful business, Brother Jerome," a deep voice says in the aftermath, when the silence still rings with the echo of screams. "Dreadful, but necessary."

They search the house for heretic artefacts, they kill the animals just to be sure – but they do not find him, and eventually they pack up and leave.

Daud doesn't know what else to do, so on the morning of the next day he uncurls from his hiding spot, feeling strangely empty inside, like the gutted carcass of one of the animals they sometimes butchered for food. Everything hurts from a night spent curled up into a tight ball. His feet snag on roots as he stumbles down the familiar path, stiff-legged and hollow-eyed.

He arrives halfway into the first lesson, but is excused from his tardiness without question since it is the first time.

He never speaks of what had happened, but even so they come for him a month later, men from the city wearing swords at their hips and the uniform of the guard.

They learned of his mother's fate. The property is seized – Daud isn't sure what that means, except that he is dragged screaming and kicking onto a cart – and his new home becomes the orphanage in Karnaca.


	2. The Boy who was never quick enough

'You're too slow,' Beatrici keeps telling him. It's not his fault. She is a head taller and a couple of years older, and built like a windhound.

When they run, he can barely keep up, his feet pounding against the cobblestones until painful shocks race up his legs through the threadbare soles of the shoes he will surely outgrow next season. He does well enough when on his own, remembering the turns of the twisted alleys avoided by reputable citizens, preferring to get out of sight and find a place to hole up over the sting in his side and sweat-soaked hair in his eyes.

Corvo has his father's hair and brows, coarse, thick, and dark, and his strong jaw, slightly crooked to the left. Beatrici takes after their mother in stature and looks, and in temperament. While Corvo is quiet and pensive, his sister's blood runs hot; she is easily bored.

Beatrici loves the thrill of the chase, her brother would rather not to be branded a thief and have his hand nailed to the pillar of shame.

They are a team – a mismatched one – but on a good day their separate strengths and weaknesses balance each other out nicely. Beatrici makes for a great distraction when she lets a vendor see her pocketing a few his wares. While she takes off with all attention focused on her, and a cursing merchant hot on her heels, Corvo with his short build and unremarkable looks will sweep all the goods he can carry into his pack and make off with no one the wiser.

At first they only take food, but as the months pass by and winter approaches, they begin to realize the direness of their situation.

Rain. Wind. Darkness. High Cold. Ice.

The sleet and the frost have them shivering in their rags, and hunger gnaws at their insides. Beatrici, when in a cruel mood, will tell him he is holding her back. Without a useless baby brother she could be so much more, in Dunwall, where there is progress and opportunity.

Corvo hangs his head and says nothing.

In his mind's eye the capital of the Empire is jagged metal suffocating in dense fogs, and eerie blue fires that burn cold.

He misses the green fields and the sparse pine forests they used to play in, with moss between dirty toes and laughter on the wind. When they had been allowed to be children, with not a care in the world and a home to return to. When they had run wild during the days and fallen into bed dead with exhaustion from exploring strange foreign continents and fighting highwaymen, in the evening.

When the stains on their clothes were from grass and earth, not the accumulated filth of the streets and skinned knees and hands blistered from all the trees they climbed was the only hurt they knew.

When there had been a fire burning in the hearth and always plenty of wood to feed it, thanks to their father's profession.

Back when they still had a father.

It had been just the three of them, ever since their mother had passed away. All that remains of her is the fading memory of her throaty voice singing them to sleep, and the faint smell of lavender. Their father had been sun-warmed wood and sawdust, machine grease, and soft worn shirts.

Corvo has to fight to breathe past the tightness in his throat every time he thinks about _papà_.

He never mentions it to his sister, croaks 'I am fine' in the mechanical voice that means he is anything but whenever she notices. Beatrici is angry with their father, as if the accident had been his fault. Like he had wanted for the saw to–

She says he should have been more careful and not stayed up late, that he should have thought of his family. She blames him, and it makes Corvo want to punch her. He doesn't. She's all he's got left anymore.

Karnaca is familiar yet strange at the same time, bigger somehow now that they have to face its trials on their own.

They spend less time in the outer districts than they used to. Same are the colourful sheets of canvas spanned over broad streets and marketplace to keep them cool and shady. Unchanged are the people crowding the streets in the morning and evening, and the lazy afternoon lull.

The tidy one-storey houses with their red-shingled roofs and small benches next to floral arrangements spilling out onto the streets no longer feel welcoming. Their inhabitants' eyes are full of mistrust as they track their every move, and the siblings hurry to escape their gaze.

Instead they roam the poor quarters, staying clear of the established gangs and their ceaseless turf wars, venturing into the richer districts only when driven by need. Too great is the risk of being picked up by the city watch.

So they fight and run, they stick to the masses for cutting purses, and to the shadows for stealing, and the days all blend together. They survive. And eventually, the ice thaws and winter turns to spring again.

When Beatrici takes off, chasing after some new thrill, or scheme – she is the one who comes up with their plans, her mind restless – Corvo is told to stay behind. He waits for her next to the statue of Fernán the Voyager, wondering what it will be this time. The market stall trick is becoming old. Burgling an estate is the most dangerous thing they have done so far – but also the most profitable one.

Corvo drums his heels against the stone in boredom as the hours pass and the shadows wander. She doesn't come back by midday, as she had promised she would. It's hardly surprising. He has enough coin to buy a skewer of meat of questionable origin, and he nibbles on it, saving it for as long as he can. Corvo falls asleep sometime in the early afternoon to the coo of pigeons, and rises with the orange glow of the sun bleeding out over the horizon.

Four days later, Beatrici is still gone.

When the guardsman asks him why he doesn't go home, Corvo cannot think of a good lie fast enough.

When he tries to run, he is caught.

When they take him to live with the other orphans and street kids, he doesn't resist.


	3. Crossroads

A corpulent blonde woman opens the gate when the guard rings an ornate bell. She greets the man with a nod and looks over his charge, a short boy dressed in rags and with a mop of dirty, wild hair, and the corners of her mouth tug downwards.

"Another one?" she asks in a snappish tone, hands braced on broad hips. Just when hope begins to blossom in Corvo's heart that she might turn him down, and the man will be forced to let him go, she decides, "I guess we'll find some place for you."

Thus he is pulled inside, flinching at the sound of the gate falling shut behind him. Corvo does not like how the strange woman with soft curves and hard, callous hands steers him by the back of his neck, but he doesn't dare to protest.

He can only crane his neck as they cross a garden in full bloom; tries to drink in the flowers and vines and century-old trees to provide shade among walkways of white gravel. It all passes in a swirl of colours, the myriad of which remains burned to the inside of Corvo's eyes, his attempts at dragging his feet foiled by the Sister pushing him onwards.

Their goal isn't nearly as nice a place – but it isn't too bad either, Corvo decides. And he's seen every variation of 'terrible' by now. A deserted courtyard of packed dirt with two large trees and a well leads them indoors.

There are many buildings, more than he can keep track of, looking like they had all grown together over time. Their interior is stark, dim, and pleasantly cool.

After a couple of turns, they pass some long dormitories with rows of beds inside. They stop in front of one with a brass '2' hanging over the door, slightly askew.

"You'll sleep here," the Sister tells him. "There's sheets in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. You are expected to keep your bed neat and done whenever you aren't asleep, or there will be consequences. Tomorrow, at seven, you will join the mass and then Mother Stefani or Mother Teresa will assign you to work."

She leaves Corvo standing in the doorway, lost and reeling from all the new information. With his head down and hair falling into his eyes he shuffles over to the dresser and retrieves bedding which carries the distinct smell of moth balls. He has no idea which bed he is supposed to put it down on. There are other children staring at him, all boys. He hasn't seen a girl so far. Maybe there are none. He won't find Beatrici here, that's for sure. Corvo briefly wonders whether she has reached Dunwall yet.

"Hey, what' your name?" A voice asks, startling him out of his thoughts. It belongs to a boy who's taller than the others, making him stand out. His arms are crossed and doesn't blink, and it's making Corvo uneasy.

"Corvo."

"That's a stupid name," the tall boy decides. His friends laugh nervously.

"I... I'm sorry," Corvo stammers not sure what he has done wrong.

The boy comes closer, uncomfortably so. "You will be," he mock-whispers, a mean smirk replacing the frown on his broad face. "The likes of you, they never last long."

Corvo isn't sure what _that_ means, other than it's nothing good, swallows saliva, and clutches his pillow closer to his chest.

Despite the terrible first day, Corvo settles into his new life easily, albeit with a nagging feeling that he should hate the orphanage like most of his peers seem to do. He doesn't. There's a roof to keep the spring rain off his head, and two meals per day, and if he has to do chores, well, they're not too different from what work he had to do at home.

The orphanage is run by Sisters of the Oracular Order, and there's a strict daily routine. Part of him enjoys even that. Not the early rising, nor the sermons which he usually dozes through, mouthing along with the Overseer reciting the Strictures, with his mind occupied by whether there will be jam for breakfast, but the predictability of it all. He knows that good behaviour will earn him praise, and bad one punishment, and he strives to please.

He learns which of the Sisters are good to the children, and which ones are better avoided. Mother Maria always tells him she wishes there were more boys like him, while those who cross Mother Stefani usually end up with red-rimmed eyes and bruises lining their arms.

Mother Elise is a gnarled old crone who will scold the hide off their skin, but she never lays a hand on the children, and when you're particularly good, she'll even sneak you some malt candy. Corvo has a small stash of the brown lumps of sugary bliss wrapped in colourless paper already, and he always volunteers for laundry duty.

He quickly becomes a favourite of some of the Revered Mothers, and for some reason it draws the ire of the other children. Squint-Eyes Willie in particular seems to hate him, and takes pleasure to pick on the newcomer.

His pals, Marco, Toad, and Luca usually leave him be when their leader isn't around. Toad's is even nice the one time he and Corvo share the duty of scrubbing the entrance hall of mud. His real name is Tobias, and he admits to being as afraid of the bigger boy as Corvo is, and promises not to go too hard on him.

They shake on it.

Corvo's life becomes a little easier after that. Tobias is good at distracting Willie whenever he gets bored and starts looking for some entertainment, the kind that involves an involuntary participant, while Corvo makes a hasty escape through the nearest door (or window, in one instance). But there is no power in the Cosmos save for the Outsider himself, maybe – and Corvo isn't sure he'd want _his_ help either – that can save him from shared chores.

Today they are hauling water for the kitchen. The orphanage has no plumbing, all the water has to be drawn from the well in the main courtyard. It is a long and tedious process, but it would be much less of a daunting task, if his partner wasn't the very source of his misery.

Corvo clutches the full bucket to his chest and sets out towards the buildings a the far end of the courtyard, when something snags his leg and sends him sprawling. Water sloshes in a great wave that turns brown as it mixes with the dirt of the ground, and Corvo slides to a stop right in the middle of the puddle. Willie laughs and runs off with his bucket, knowing that the delay will anger Revered Mother Teresa and that she'll take it out on the smaller boy.

It's not that bad, Corvo tells himself, gritting his teeth, mud squelching between the fingers of his balled fists. He could have been paired up with another, with Chester for instance. Or, Void forbid, he could have been paired up with _Daud_.

Corvo peels his soaked, dirt-caked self off the ground, and returns to the well. He hooks up the bucket, and lets it down again.

There is a defined pecking order in the orphanage, and Corvo is aware that he is pretty far at the bottom. He has been in his fair share of scraps, but never in a situation where he couldn't get away. Corvo is short, even for his young age. He isn't a brawler, he is used to kicking a shin or punching a nose and making a break for it. But that's hard to pull off if the odds are against you.

There are a few near grown-up lads who used to be well-known for their penchant for trouble-making back in their day, but they all who have found work by now and are usually away for the day, and return only for the night. They stay up past hours, standing in twos or threes, and smoke, laugh rambunctiously at jokes only they seem to understand, and consider childish scuffles not worthy of their attention.

The really mean ones left are Chester and Adriano. They don't bother Willie and his friends, but they pick on most of the other kids. Especially those younger than themselves.

But worst of the lot is, according to the consensus of adolescents, Daud.

Corvo hasn't seen much of the boy with the colourless eyes, but there are many stories varying in improbability, ranging from 'His mother was a witch and he can curse your ears off' to 'He has a knife and he will shank you in your sleep if you make him angry.'

Corvo believes them all. He firsthand saw how Edgar, who is five years Daud's senior and almost two heads taller, tried to take the other boy's lunch one afternoon in what turned out to be a very poorly thought through spur-of-the-moment decision. They call him Toothless Edgar now, after Daud hit him in the face with a brick.

 _No one_ bullies Daud. Even the Sisters avoid him, their eyes gliding over him like he wasn't there. Mutt says it's because they're afraid he carries the Outsider's taint. Corvo thinks there may be some truth in it, as he knows Daud is banned from the Abbey services, though he isn't entirely sure whether it is truly because the drapes had all gone up in flame the very moment he had stepped over the threshold.

When he arrives in the kitchens, Mother Teresa cuffs his head for the delay. Corvo's face is dunked, he inhales a noseful of water, and coughs up half a lung before he can hand over the bucket with shaking arms.

Mother Teresa just glares and snaps her bony fingers at him with a dry _crack_. "Get moving, boy!"

He hauls water until he is sure the well must be nigh empty by now – and each time he pulls up the bucket he can feel the distance between the water and ground level lengthen into what feels like miles. When at long last he is done, Mother Teresa makes him clean up the mud he trod into the kitchen floor too, and this evening he falls into his bed face-first, too tired to wonder where his cover and pillow have disappeared to.

Corvo, who finds that he has nowhere to run in the walled-off courtyard of the orphanage, becomes very good at mastering the vertical. All the climbing he had done with Beatrici has strengthened his arms, and trained his eye to find the foot-and-handholds he needs to pull himself up. Up the trees or the house facades he scatters, like a spooked alley cat, whenever he is about to run into trouble with his peers. In fact, Corvo becomes so good at making himself scarce, that most bullies simply give up on trying to get hold of him.

A few individuals are not as easily deterred though, and there is no way for Corvo to escape the Abbey services and communal meals. Every evening he returns to the dormitory with fingers crossed that Willie is either asleep already, or too tired to pick on him.

During the day, when he isn't busy with chores, Corvo is happy to perch over the heads of the other children and the sisters alike, and to watch them from a perspective that is usually reserved for his namesake. They look smaller, from higher up. Corvo enjoys being able to look down on them, for a change.

He watches Chester, Adriano and a couple other boys play ball in the courtyard, glad they found something else to kick around.

He is fairly safe when he is with his friends, but today they have kitchen duty, and Roland is accompanying Mother Maria to the market, so he is all on his own. Corvo lets his legs dangle, and from time to time he tosses crumbs at the doves, watching them flock to the spot and peck them up. The terracotta tiles radiate warmth at his back, and Corvo relaxes into the heat, thinking about the boys he had managed to befriend.

Roland has been in the orphanage his entire life, his mother had died giving birth. He helps out in the Abbey services and the Sisters trust him with more important duties, giving him more freedom than to any of the other children. There's a persistent rumour that one day he will become an Overseer and join the Abbey.

Mutt is a the bastard child of a sailor who was lost at sea. _Dragged into the endless blue by a whale,_ Mutt will tell anybody willing to listen, and they usually do so with eyes wide as saucers. Corvo however knows the story back from when it had still been 'swept overboard by a big wave' and thinks the audience is silly to believe anything that comes out of _Mutt's_ mouth, but he never ruins his friend's fun.

"They're mean, the whales," Mutt says in a low, serious whisper at the end of his tale.

He also insists that the whalers hunt them because they are agents of the Outsider.

"You're stupid," Roland tells him one day. "Everyone knows they hunt them because they're full of oil."

"And because they're delicious," Derek throws in cheerfully. His mother and father had worked in the mines, but one day there had been a cave-in and they had never returned.

Corvo hopes the others will think of him, and maybe sneak him an extra slice of pie, because Roland isn't with them to lecture them in a voice almost as serious as the Sisters' about Restless Hands. Corvo's hands are always restless. His mind often wanders in strange and wondrous directions, his feet constantly twitch with unspent energy. _Everybody's gaze wanders_ , he thinks, and he is fairly sure that all of the orphans are possessed of a lying tongue, except for Roland, maybe, but then Mutt makes up enough codswallop for both of them.

He doesn't understand the Sixth Stricture, but hasn't found any Sister willing to explain it to him. Corvo wonders what fruits prostitutes carry with them. He had known a few when roving the streets with Beatrici, and he had never noticed them having any, or at least none they were never willing to share.

Corvo's favourite fruit is plum, but his most favourite one is the one that's inside a tart. Sometimes it's apple. Sometimes pear.

His stomach makes a growling noise like a wolfhound. It is full to the brim with hunger.

"You're in my spot."

Corvo jerks violently and nearly falls over the edge he is sitting on, catching himself just in time. His head whips around towards the voice – Corvo bites back a shout of pain. He grimaces instead, and rubs the spot where a whole colony of fire ants races up his neck.

He knows the speaker, of course. Of all the people he could run into up here, in the _one place_ that he had believed to be his safe retreat...

"I'm s-" he begins out of habit, but before he can finish, Daud tilts his head and asks,

"What happened to your face?"

Corvo touches the circle of blue on his left cheek; it is still slightly swollen and tender. He doesn't really want to, but seemingly out of their own accord his fingers push harder, as if to assure himself whether it's still there; it hurts so the answer must be yes.

Willie had elbowed him while they stood in line for dinner yesterday. Under the watchful eyes of the Sisters he had not dared to do more, but he had gotten away with this much, and Corvo had sat down between Derek and a shy boy everyone called Mouse, with a red face and a helpless fury bubbling in his stomach.

His mood had improved by the end of the meal, because he had caught Toad winking at him before he slipped a canned herring behind Willie's collar, managing to blame it on Luca.

Derek had called the other boy a Squint-Eyed Willyface, and they had laughed until Mother Stefani had come over to investigate, forcing them to stifle their chuckles in their fists. Suddenly the bruise had stung a lot less.

"Willie hit me," Corvo admits and shifts, scoots a little further away from the ledge. He hopes Daud doesn't notice. He doesn't like the way the other boy is looking at him.

"Why did you let him?"

"What could I have done?" Corvo bristles. It's not like he can go picking fights with the Sisters watching them like hawks, without earning himself the castigation of his life. And Willie never fights fair, or on his own.

Daud shrugs. "Hit him back harder," is his advice.

He seems to lose interest in the conversation after that, but to Corvo's dismay he comes closer, moving like he is familiar with the slope of the roof, and unafraid of the height he may fall off if he loses his balance. He doesn't.

Corvo holds his breath. _Daud's going to push him off._ The thought races through his mind like a panicked rabbit, and his fingers tighten on the ledge until his knuckles are white and the rough plaster cuts into his palms. He has yet to be told to leave, so he doesn't move, holds very, very still. Maybe the other boy will forget that he is here. Despite what he said, Corvo is fairly sure that this was his spot first.

Daud crouches down next to him, on all fours like an animal ready to pounce. He looks down with a bored expression, then backs up again.

He doesn't ask what Corvo is doing up here, or how he climbed up. He is ignoring the smaller boy, and Corvo dares to hope that his strategy is working. Out of the corner of his eyes he watches Daud crawl to where the fig tree is drunkenly leaning against the building they're sitting on. Corvo tried one of the figs once, but he couldn't decide whether it was bad or merely weird. Maybe prostitutes carry figs, because the Stricture clearly states that the fruits lead to sorrow and misery. He'd immediately regretted trying the one he had, so that seems about right.

Daud picks up one of the fallen fruit, and weights it in his hands. Corvo wonders if he will eat it, despite half of it being brown and thoroughly rotted.

That's when Daud looks up, and right at Corvo, who doesn't look away fast enough. A frown appears on the other boy's face, but then his lips purse and he turns away again. Daud doesn't try to eat the fig. He draws back his arm and throws the fruit with unerring precision at the boys below them. It hits Chester in the left shoulder, and Corvo can hear him cry out in surprise and disgust and maybe (hopefully) a bit of pain.

A startled laugh is torn from him, and the boys below stop. Chester points at him, and all heads turn in his direction.

Uh-oh.

They don't know that he has done nothing, and they probably don't care anyway. Daud is lying on his back with his hands clasped over his stomach. They can't see him from below.

"Why did you do that?" Corvo demands to know. All of a sudden he is too angry to be afraid. They are going to take it out on him, and it's all Daud's fault.

Daud shrugs. His limbs loosen into a relaxed sprawl. "Always wanted to," he replies, slightly slurred. He's chewing on a long blade of grass, Corvo notices.

He takes the time to study the boy before him. He's bigger than Corvo, but neither as tall as Adriano, nor as broad as Willie. He's got dark hair, but not quite as dark as Corvo's own and his right arm is covered in a scab that goes from his elbow to the middle of his arm and looks rather painful, although Daud pays it no heed. There's also dirt on his nose, a streak of brown right on the bridge.

Daud continues to lie there and contemplate the sky through half-closed eyes, until he pushes himself up without warning.

"You throw one," the boy says.

Corvo gapes at him. What?

"Nu-uh," he protests. Chester and Adriano and the other boys, they're going to kill him.

Daud's eyes narrow dangerously. "Do it," he hisses, and Corvo suddenly has a bad feeling this isn't a game anymore.

He weights his options, coming to the conclusion that he'd rather not make an enemy of Daud. Because Daud is up here where he can probably hurt Corvo real bad if he wanted to, while Chester and Adriano are still down there; and besides, they already hate him anyway.

Corvo moves slowly, like a fly stuck in syrup. He picks up a fig. It feels small in the palm of his hand, and hard. He lets it fall again, tries one after the other until he is happy with one that's soft and bloated with decay. Daud nods his approval. Corvo waits until the game below comes to a standstill, as he doesn't want to miss his one shot. Soon enough the boys are arguing about who gets the ball, and Adriano is wiping sweat off his brow with a sleeve.

Corvo takes aim, and throws the fig.

It hits Adriano square in the back, making him stumble and nearly fall, covered in bits of maggoty fruit. He screams and flails his arms, and Corvo isn't sure how he feels about that. Part of him is shocked at what he just did, but another part takes delight in meting out some revenge on his tormentors.

Daud grins up at him, all traces of his former anger gone, and despite himself, Corvo grins back. He feels braver than he has in a long time, kind of like when Beatrici was still with him.

Adriano comes up right to the house, and waves his fist menacingly, daring Corvo to come down. A boy named Antonio is making chicken noises. At least until Daud's next shot shuts him up, leaving him bent in half at the middle, spluttering and spitting.

It's that easy to join forces. Corvo jumps up, grabs two handfuls of figs, and comes to Daud's aid. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. This is war. Corvo can see himself as a knight of old, fighting from a castle besieged by foes. He and Daud are allies now; united by a purpose and a common enemy. This is their ground, and they defend it.

The boys below scream as they are mercilessly pelted with fruit, and eventually they are beaten back. They run, defeated and Corvo and Daud stand victorious. The courtyard is littered with evidence of the battle; pulp has exploded on the ground, pieces of fruit lie broken and scattered.

Everything around them smells of figs. It is a sweet, heavy odour that hangs low in the air and makes Corvo's stomach rumble again. He plops down on the roof. The warmth he found enjoyable before now only makes him sweat more, and he wishes for a cool breeze as he wipes away hair that's stuck to his brow. Corvo pulls a lumpy package from his pocket and breaks off a malt candy from the clump where they've all melted together. He sticks the bit in his mouth, sucking on it loudly, because it's hard to breathe past the candy, and the earlier fight had left him badly winded.

Still wary of the other boy's presence, who is sitting a few feet away with his arms around his knees and breathing just as hard, he hesitatingly offers some to Daud as well.

"I don't like sweets," Daud says with a grimace of disgust, and Corvo can't believe his ears, because sweets are the most delicious thing, ever.

Daud does accept half the sandwich with smoked ham and goat' cheese they were given as lunch, however, and they munch on the food in almost companionable silence. Corvo is so engrossed in his food that he doesn't notice it at first when Daud begins to watch him again, in that strange way that makes the younger boy feel like he has something to prove. Surely, after today, he doesn't anymore?

"What?" Corvo asks, swallowing past a mouthful of bread.

Daud doesn't answer, pretending he hasn't heard. He finished the last of his sandwich, and inches his way closer to the ledge until his legs dangle over it. He swings them to gain momentum, then, he jumps _._

Corvo watches in open-mouthed awe as Daud hits the ground, rolls, and gets up again, dusting off his pants. He doesn't look back.

Corvo wants to shout something after the other boy, but he doesn't know what to say, and Daud disappears before he can think of anything. Corvo is left feeling confused and let down. Did he do something wrong? Why wouldn't Daud talk to him? Was he disappointed with Corvo for some reason? Corvo cannot say why Daud's approval matters all of a sudden, he only knows that it does.

Part of him wants to jump too just to prove that he too can do it, but it's the kind of thing his father warned would make him break a leg, and so he takes the longer, and safer, route down via the rainwater pipe. The events of the day replay in his head over and over again. By the time he reaches the bottom, they have completely chased all thoughts of pie from his mind.

It was too much to hope for, Corvo realizes, that he incident with the figs would be forgotten. They corner him a couple of days later in the main yard. Chester, Adriano and Pierce laugh as they rub their already work-roughened hands together and elbow each other. A circle of curious onlookers begins to form, but no one moves to intervene on his behalf. There is no sight of any of the Sisters.

Corvo raises his fists, knowing full well that he is out-numbered and out-matched, but there's nowhere he can run so he will stand his ground. That there is still some fight left in him seems to amuse them. Chester clutches at his chest and hides behind Pierce, peeking out from over the shorter boy's shoulder while his knees tremble theatrically. Several lads in the audience break out in gales of laughter.

They break off abruptly, cut off by a surprised shout. One of the boys who had been watching the spectacle lands on the ground, both hands clasped over his mouth and nose, with eyes wide as tea saucers and tears spilling onto his cheeks. While his friends pull him to his feet and off to the side, Daud steps out from behind, and surveys the scene.

He takes in the older boys who are no longer smiling, and then he is coming straight for Corvo, who has the terrible vision of ending as a red smear on the cobblestones. But instead of attacking him, Daud does the least likely thing; he drapes an arm around Corvo's shoulders and pulls him closer. Like they were friends. His knuckles are skinned, Corvo notices. It seems that some part of him always is.

Corvo's head is spinning. He doesn't know what any of this means, other than it seems his fortunes have changed. With Daud at his side, he doesn't feel helpless any more. Perhaps together they can take on the others. So he puts on a brave face, sticks out his lower jaw, and fixes the three boys with the meanest glare he can muster.

"Get lost." Chester says, completely ignorant to Corvo's shift of attitude.

But Daud, who doesn't bulge, asks with his head tilted to the side, as if curious, "What do you think you're doing?"

"We are teaching Attano here a lesson," Adriano explains, pointing a finger at Corvo's chest.

"On how to respect his betters," Pierce adds.

"Yeah? Who's that?" Daud mutters, but his words are drowned out by the excited whispers of the crowd.

"We could fix your attitude too!" Chester threatens.

"Son of a witch," someone hisses behind them, but Corvo cannot make out who. His heart is beating so hard, he is afraid it might break through his chest.

"Fuck off, or I'll fix your ugly face first," Daud snarls back and there are several gasps in the audience at him using that sort of language. Mother Theresa would have a fit if she heard, and Mother Elise's heart might give out straight away.

Chester and Pierce make tough talk, but they are actually both backing off. Adriano seems to be itching for a fight, but abandoned by his buddies, his courage deserts him too. He must remember what had happened to Edgar. Apparently, Adriano does not wish to spend the rest of his life eating fruit and vegetable puree.

"Come on, boys," Chester says. "We'll be late for work. We'll get Attano when his nanny isn't around."

He spits in their direction, turns and leaves for the main hall, followed by the others. The crowd begins to break up now that the excitement is wearing off and it's evident that there will be no brawl after all.

Daud's arm is as heavy as an anchor where it rests around Corvo's shoulders, keeping him in place, immobilized. The other boy is still looking after the trio through eyes narrowed to a slit, athough they have disappeared out of eyesight by now.

Corvo, meanwhile, manages to stammer out a 'thank you.'

It's almost like Daud had forgotten that he was even there. He jerks back, and Corvo cannot say that he is happy to be the sole center of his attention. "You owe me," Daud hisses, and walks away, his hands thrust deep into the pockets if his coat.

Corvo's mouth snaps shut, whatever else he might have said dying on his tongue.

"And you fought them off?" Derek asks, open-mouthed and in awe. "Mutt says – "

Corvo shakes his head, interrupting what would undoubtedly be a fantastic but also very much a false account of what had happened. "Nu-uh. But I would have fought them," he adds thinking he deserves some credit for standing up to Chester and Adriano.

"You're really brave, you know?" Mouse whispers and Corvo feels a bubble of happiness in his chest expanding; he hasn't been called brave before.

"You shouldn't be fighting," Roland adds his unwanted opinion. "Revered Mother Maria says-"

"Wha, 'e should've let 'em beat 'im op?" Mutt appears beside the group and drops a raisin tartlet just like the one he is chewing on into Corvo's lap.

"Did you bring us some too?" Derek asks in a hopeful voice.

Mutt shakes his head and tousles Corvo's hair. "No. Just the one for our hero."

Derek looks crestfallen for a moment, but eventually he leans forward again. "So is it true that Daud _helped_ you? I would be so scared."

Corvo feigns nonchalance and nods. "He's not that bad, you know," he says and it feels good to boast. "I'm not afraid of him."

But when, several days later, Daud tells Corvo to meet him at sunset, Corvo is so nervous throughout that day, that he cannot make his hands stop shaking, and he ends up dropping everything he picks up.

It is almost a relief when evening arrives, and Corvo can escape Mother Elise's milky gaze. Daud hasn't said where he is supposed to find him, but somehow Corvo knows. There is only one spot, hidden from view and so hard to reach that no one else will find them there.

Corvo's intuition turns out to be right. When he pulls himself onto the roof behind the fig tree, red-faced and gasping for air, Daud is already there. The other boy is sitting behind the chimney so that he cannot be seen from the courtyard, watching the swallows that come and go to feed their young. Corvo hesitantly walks up to him, sitting down with his back to the sun-warmed stonework, and wraps his arms around his knees. Daud is watching him with those colourless eyes of his, and says nothing.

"How did you know that Adriano and Pierce wouldn't hit you?" Corvo finally asks, because the silence is making him tense, and he still doesn't know what it is that he owes Daud, and that's even worse.

"They're afraid," Daud says, and Corvo thinks he sounds pleased. "They all are. Even the Sisters."

Corvo is sitting cross-legged opposite the other boy, elbows poking into his thighs and his jaw braced in the palms of his hands. "Why?"

Daud grins smugly, and whispers, "Because I know poisons."

Corvo's head snaps up. "How?" Poisons doesn't sound like something you can learn just anywhere.

"Haven't you heard?" the older boy scoffs. "My mother was a witch."

"A real one?" Corvo cannot stop his eyes from growing wide. Of course he knows the rumours, but oh, to hear it confirmed! "With magic and –"

"I can do magic," Daud interrupts him, and he isn't smiling anymore, all serious.

Corvo isn't stupid. He has seen plenty of people make that claim, has cut the purses from people who had gathered around the street performers who announced they could pull animals out of hats or predict the fortune. But he has never ever seen _real_ magic. "Prove it."

"Do you have a coin?" Daud asks, and hesitantly, Corvo pulls out a Crown. He earned it washing dishes and there's a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that Daud is going to take it away.

"Put it in your pocket," Daud instructs, and Corvo lets it fall into his right pocket, hand resting on the small lump as if to assure himself that it is still there.

"I'm going to take it," Daud announces, and reaches into Corvo's _left_ pocket.

Meanwhile, Corvo watches his every move with eyes narrowed in concentration. "That's the wrong pocket," he says, still feeling the hard edges of the coin through the fabric.

"Oh yes?" A copper flash appears between Daud's fingers – the coin! – but it is not possible.

Corvo gapes at him, because where had it come from? Daud isn't wearing any sleeves or gloves, and it hadn't been there a moment before. His hand flies to his right pocket, his mind screaming _it's not possible_ over and over, and finds it empty.

Daud's smirk grows wider as Corvo face falls, and quick as lightning, he withdraws his hand as the smaller boy lunges at him.

"Give it back!"

Daud laughs, flips the coin, catches it mid-air, and pockets it. "If you want it back, you must do something for me first."

Corvo pauses in his attempts to regain his money. "That's not fair!" he protests.

"I told you I was going to take it, didn't I?" Daud asks with a shrug and Corvo hates that he is right. "But if you're too much of a coward... ," he is already turning away by the time Corvo shouts after him.

"Wait!" This isn't just about the coin. He isn't sure what is driving him to seek Daud's approval, but he needs to show the other boy that he is no coward. "I'll do it!" Mouse had called him brave. This is what Corvo decides to be, from now on. He'll prove it too. Then he realizes he has no idea what the challenge is. "What do I have to do?"

So Daud tells him.

Corvo is no stranger to the feeling of having his stomach ache like it has tied itself into knots from excitement, or to his hands being so sweaty he has to wipe them on his pants every couple of minutes, but few times in his life has he been quite as anxious as he is now. He is currently lying wedged in the tiny space under Mother Stefani's bed and if he is caught, she will surely take the belt to him.

Dust tickles his nose and he has to stifle a sneeze by pinching his nose really hard, but other than that he barely dares to breathe. If the Sister discovers him, here, he is afraid to even think of what his punishment might be. Daud has charged him with getting a small book that the Sister owns, but he has already searched the room and has not been able to find it anywhere. He isn't sure what Daud wants with the booklet, as neither of them can read, but if this is what he has to do to prove himself, so be it.

Eventually the door opens and Corvo imagines himself melting into the floor. He lies still while the Sister prepares for bed, and after a while that seems eternal, the bed creaks above, and Corvo feels like there is even less space for him now. It is getting hard to keep his breathing shallow, but he lies still and waits until the tossing above him stops. Only when he can hear the Sister breathe regularly and deeply, does he drag himself from underneath the bed.

He heard something being put into the drawer of the bedside table before, so Corvo checks there first, and indeed, the book is there. He grabs it, and hides it in a pocket, but just as he is turning around, Mother Stefani grunts and moves in her sleep. Surprised, Corvo jumps and knocks into the bedside table. The water jug on top begins to spin, tilting dangerously –

Corvo bolts. He is through the door before he can hear the crash, and the startled Sister's gasp. The tension that has built up in him from all the waiting needs an outlet, and he runs all the way back to the orphanage's courtyard, scaling the wall that separates it from the cloister.

Daud seems surprised, if pleased, when Corvo shows up, panting, sweaty, and covered in dust, yet beaming with success. He returns the Crown, just like he promised to, and tops it off with a handful of sweets to boot.

"Where did you get these?" Corvo asks through a mouth full of candy.

"I pinched them from that blind old bat," Daud explains, but doesn't clarify why he took candy he doesn't even like.

Corvo feels guilty for a moment; he _likes_ Mother Elise, but he is still too riled up by his adventure and giddy with accomplishment, so he says nothing. T _hat wasn't so bad_ , he thinks, poking the sweet with a finger when it gets stuck to his tooth.

"I guess you're not a coward, after all," Daud says, and Corvo beams up at him, soaking in the praise.

They spend more and more time together from now on.

Daud teaches him how to do the jump and roll, and Corvo shares some of his climbing technique, because he notices that the other boy almost entirely relies on the strength of his arms to pull himself up. They meet in secret places, like behind the chimney of the roof on which they had once carried out the fig battle, or in a small shed full of gardening tools that is off-limits to the orphans.

Daud keeps coming up with tasks for Corvo, who takes to them like a duck to water. Breaking the rules not only makes him feel bold and daring, but it pleases his new friend. And after Corvo manages to suppress the initial pangs of his guilty conscience, he begins to enjoy their little escapades.

Sometimes he has to drop a plate of food to cause a brief distraction. At other times, Daud wants him to filch the one object or the other, but most often he just makes use of his ability to be overlooked to follow and observe whomever Daud tells him to. The older boy almost never shares the reason why he had to do the one thing or another with Corvo beforehand, and eventually he stops asking.

Once, they paint funny moustaches on the busts of dead but famous Overseers and Sisters alike. Corvo provides the key that opens the Abbey's doors, taken from an unsuspecting Mother Maria, and they spend a good portion of the night vandalizing its interior, sneaking back out in the morning, groggy-eyed, and high on the act of defiance. They are never found out.

Roland stops talking to him altogether, but Corvo doesn't care. He never liked him that much anyway, and Daud is much more fun to be around. He also doesn't spout strictures at him like a miniature version of an Overseer. Derek and Mutt are still his friends, although they usually make themselves scarce when Daud shows up.

There comes a day when Corvo learns that Willie has something nasty planned for him for when he goes to sleep tomorrow – Toad had slipped him a warning during supper. Usually it's always Daud who finds him and comes up with the next prank, and so he is hesitant to approach the other boy and ask for his help at first. But Daud takes the problem seriously, thinking with his brow furrowed while Corvo twirls a stick between his fingers and hopes his friend will come up with an idea.

He does.

Since they have no time to lose, their next venture happens this very night. It takes them right into the gardens of the Order. It is a swelteringly hot summer night, typical for this time of the year. Crickets chirp loudly as the boys give each other leg-ups up the wall.

The gardens are nothing like the dusty courtyard where trampled clumps of grass cling to life amidst hard-packed earth. Here, there are green lawns and paths of white gravel lined by buxus hedges, with rose bushes arranged in artful designs on both sides. Corvo hasn't been there since the day he arrived in the orphanage, but Daud seems familiar with their layout. They sneak close to the outer fence, bent low so as not to be seen, until they reach a part far in the back where the grass is high and bushes and trees will keep them from view.

They collect fuzzy brown balls from a tree that looks like a maple but isn't, and then they move on to a wild bush of rose hip to pick the fruit. Once they have a satchel and all pockets full, they return to their hiding place on the roof. Daud pulls out a knife with a horn handle out of his boot – aha! so it is true! – and cuts open, then scrapes out the seeds from the small red fruit, while Corvo crushes the other ones in a bowl he had taken from the breakfast table this morning.

When they're done, the brown powder doesn't look like much, but Daud assures Corvo that it will work.

"Rub it in his sheets," he instructs, and Corvo does so the very next evening before bedding down.

It's only minutes before the first effects can be seen.

One by one, the boys get up again, scratching furiously and muttering amongst each other. Marco begins to jump up and down, trying to reach his back, Jerome actually rolls on the floor like a dog. Toad sits up, wild-eyed, and observes the insanity around him. He notices Corvo watching, grins, and then falls to the floor, and begins to jerk and moan too, just like Willie is doing.

Corvo watches them all scratch and cry, then buries his face in the pillow, and laughs until his belly hurts.

His punishment, when it is being meted out by a scolding Mother Theresa, is being moved in together with Daud. Since being with good, stricture obeying boys apparently has done nothing to drive the Outsider's evil temptations for mischief out of him, maybe the scare of an actual heretic would be enough to put him on the straight and narrow. Corvo looks at the tips of his shabby boots where the big toe is almost poking through the worn leather and bites his lip in an attempt to stave off a huge grin.

He must look sufficiently chastened because Mother Theresa looks particularly pleased with herself as she drags him down the corridor, and into the last room on the left. It is much smaller than the dormitory he had slept in until now. Instead of rows of bunks there are only four beds, and two of those are used as storage space.

Corvo takes the lower bunk, because the top one is already occupied.

"I don't mind you," Daud tells him, hanging upside-down from his bed once the door closes and Mother Theresa is out of earshot. "You don't run your mouth all the time like the others."

Over the next year, little changes for Corvo apart from the place where he sleeps at night. He spends more time than ever with Daud, especially after some of his other friends leave the orphanage.

Derek is gone, and they don't know where to. Toad and Mutt both work, the former in one of the mines and the latter in a cloth factory. Roland does as everybody suspected and joins the Overseers. Willie continues being a menace, one that has gotten bigger, beefier and meaner with every day.

"Why don't you deal with him ?" Daud asks one evening while he is applying a salve of honey and some thick-leafed green plant to a cut on Corvo's cheek.

"I don't want any trouble," Corvo protests. Also he doesn't know how, but he has learned that is never a good thing to admit with Daud. Getting into scraps one, two, years ago was fine, but he cannot keep picking fights with the others. There is more at stake and the punishments from the Mothers are more severe, also.

An exasperated sigh is his only answer. They sit together on Corvo's bunk, which is almost too small now for the both of them. Mostly because Daud has gone through a growth spurt recently.

"Do you want me to take care of it?" the older boy finally asks.

Corvo studies his friend's profile. He doesn't like the way that sounds, but surely there's no harm in Daud scaring the other boy, roughing him up a bit, maybe.

Suddenly he has a terrible thought. "You don't mean to poison him?"

Daud looks at him with narrowed eyes. "No," he says, like he had been considering the very thing. "No, that would be too obvious."

"Daud –"

"Don't worry about it," Daud says, and because he has gotten to obeying the other boy's orders, Corvo doesn't.

Not until six days later, when Willie is found floating in the well.

The news reaches Corvo with a scream that shatters the early morning quiet. He wakes with his heart beating in his throat, and when he rips open the door, the entire corridor is lined with faces peeking out from the dormitories. Some are curious, others clearly fearful.

The Overseers arrive to investigate before most of the boys are even fully dressed. Faceless men, their masks fixed into an expression of disapproval and with slavering hounds at their heels; they question the Sisters and the boys alike. Corvo is no exception.

"Do you know anything about or related to this incident?"

Corvo is shaking his head, so fast that the world around him spins, aware of how the sweat trickles under his arms and his collar. _They know,_ a part of him is convinced. Their eyes can see straight though him, detect all his secrets. _They know. They know, they know, they know._

But in the end, they have no proof.

Back in the room, Corvo collapses against the door, panting as if he had run back the whole way and trembling from head to heels. He is terrified, and he is angry. Angry enough to shout, angry enough not to care who else might hear.

"Did you? Did you do it!?"

"Did I what?" Daud growls. His voice already has a hint of the roughness it will adopt one day, and something flashes behind his eyes – something cold and calculating Something that, Corvo realizes, has always been there, but has never surfaced before.

They called it an incident. Incident, and not murder.

He never dares to ask again.

Corvo wants to find Beatrici, but he doesn't know whether she'd want him to. Or where he would have to start looking. He wants for his father to be alive again, but the Outsider alone could grant him that wish, and he is not, despite everything, a heretic.

So all that he has left is imagining a better, brighter future. One where he can leave the orphanage far behind, and where he will never have to return to the barren courtyard and the loud and overcrowded dormitories. Where Sisters will not scold him, and – he does not wish for other boys not to bully him. They no longer do.

In fact, no one dares to associate themselves with Corvo. Even his former friends shun him.

"One day I will become a great swordsman," Corvo says. Daud knows the game. He wants to leave the orphanage too, possibly even more so than Corvo does. "The best."

Daud laughs, and Corvo feels himself flush with shame. "Win the Blade Verbena while you're at it, why don't you?" the older boy says in amusement.

"Well, what will you do?" Corvo asks, knees drawn up high against his chest, his chin resting on the bony joints. "Daud?"

"I will kill the men in the masks," Daud answers without sparing a moment's time to think about the answer.

And Corvo believes him.

Yet in the end, they take even Daud. They drag him off; big men with tattoos like sailors. Some laugh at the boy's attempts to stab one of them, before punching him hard enough in the head that Daud ceases to struggle. Corvo sees the last of the men leaving through the gate hand Mother Stefani a pouch which disappears instantly beneath her billowy white blouse.

And then they disappear from view, and Daud is gone. Just like that.

Next spring, Corvo will be old enough to join the guard. Not _as_ a guard – not yet. But they're always looking for an extra pair of hands to help out with grunt work. He doesn't care what anyone else says, that they'll have him scrub latrines all day. He'll do that, and he will polish the guards' shoes, and clean their quarters, and in time it will all pay off.

Sixteen years old and just grown into his limbs, he will stand on the blistering hot sand of the grand arena, with thousands of eyes following his every move. When sweat and dust blur his vision, and every one of his opponents is bigger and stronger than he is, and all the spectators have judged the odds to be against him, he will find his courage. And when strength and is on the verge of deserting him, he will think of a wild boy with colourless eyes who never backed down.

Corvo will rise. And he will soar.

* * *

AN:

Thank you for reading!

If you are interested in my current projects, I have two Darkest Dungein stories in the works, which include a romance between penitent highwayman and a traumatized crusader. Good stuff, and the game is worth every penny!


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